


The Battle of Fornost.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Bilbo asks Glorfindel about the Battle of Fornost, Glorfindel remembers Eärnur.





	The Battle of Fornost.

 

   Bilbo looked thoughtfully at Glorfindel, whose face was darkened with a frown of pain, not the pain of the flesh, but the deeper, lingering pain of the spirit.  
   'Come, Glorfindel, what darkness can trouble you here, in Imladris ?' The hobbit grinned to see the reluctant smile on the elf’s face. Bilbo always spoke of Rivendell, rather than Imladris, it was a gesture of kindness to speak the true name of their home. Glorfindel sighed and sat up.  
   'The darkness of memory, old friend, but why speak of it ? You were wounded at Erebor, you faced the orcs, you know what haunts me.'  
   Bilbo frowned for a moment, remembering the pride of Thorin Oakenshield, bled away into the dust. He choked and looked down, wondering if he was the most miserable, cursed of hobbits in the whole world. But suddenly a question rose within him, and he was astonished that he had never yet thought to ask it, here where finally it could be answered.  
   'I say though, Glorfindel, you were at the Battle of Fornost, you must have seen other hobbits at war. What is their story ? For they never returned to the Shire. Of course, we always played as children that they had gone off with the Rangers or even the Elves, and so of course, that’s why, when old Gandalf dragged me off with the dwarves, well, I was ready to go, if you see what I mean. Well, I wont say that I hoped to find them, not really, but maybe, you know, somewhere there are other hobbits, who heard what became of them, and will take down an old sword from the wall and tell old stories...' his voiced tailed away into silence. Glorfindel was attempting to smile, but his anguish was plain. Bilbo sucked air through his teeth 'They all died, didn’t they ? At once ?'  
   Glorfindel sighed again and nodded. 'No prisoners were taken on that day...'

  
   Eärnur had taken a wound to the knee, and had a broken nose again. The healers sang over him, and bathed his wounds. Across the pavilion Logar was having an arrowhead cut out of his arm. His hissing breath mingled with the sound of the damp wood in the braziers. Glorfindel stepped into the pavilion, a wondrous, many-pointed palace, filled with warm light. It was a pavilion fit for an elven king, Glorfindel had seen little to rival such splendour, even at Mereth Aderthad, and marvelled at the might and majesty of Gondor, poor orphaned child of Numenor.   
   He was offered wine and refreshment, and ushered to a wide, cushioned seat, richly embroidered with threads of gold. Eärnur looked at him over the shoulder of the healer binding his wound 'A great victory ! By the stars you came at the very tip of the wind ! A moment, a mere moment later and you would have been too late !'  
   Glorfindel nodded slowly 'Again, I ask your forgiveness. But the flooding at Tharbad made the ground treacherous for many leagues, thus were we held back.'  
   Eärnur waved a hand dismissively 'Oh ! No no, I am not angry, not at all, we got that spawn of Mordor, that’s all that matters. Ha ! Forgiveness ! I would ask your forgiveness for not schooling my horse to face the foe ! I could have died more easily from the shame than from any wound he may have inflicted on me ! Oh Glorfindel, who will ever believe that it was my steed who fled ? How shall I ever face my people again ?'  
   Behind him Logar snorted with a smile and shook his head, then looked at Glorfindel with raised eyelids for a moment. Glorfindel smiled warmly back at him; there was elven blood in the House of Dol Amroth, and Eärnur had been enchanted by the youngest son. He had joked often what a pity it was that one of them were not a woman, imagining the fine children they would bear. 'But then' he would finish wistfully 'if he were a woman, I should not love him as I do.'

   Glorfindel looked intently at Eärnur 'Sire, all the horses were scattered. None will speak ill of you, for none can say "But I did not quail." That was no mortal foe, and you defeated him, the field was yours ere I came near. You are to be praised and honoured, sire ! Truly.'   
   Logar smiled gratefully, but looked still at Glorfindel, who knew that he was being urged to speak, by one who preferred silence. The traces of elven blood of Logar could be perceived in his spirit as well as seen in his lack of beard.   
   'But sire, as Logar has felt, and would have me tell you, there has been... There has been a change.'  
   Eärnur sat up straight then yelped, the healer murmured soothingly and Eärnur grimaced 'Cursed orcs... A change ? What ? Some elvish thing ? Will it affect my troops ?'

   Glorfindel looked at Logar, who pressed his lips together briefly. Glorfindel sighed 'The foe, the Witch-king, you know that he is a creature of the Dark Lord; not a living creature, but a claw of the enemy’s own will. And with that claw Sauron has marked this land. I think... It may be that this land was marked long ago, that here the true Enemy, Morgoth himself, that here he clung grimly to Arda until the Valar cast him into the void. As though there were a wound in the very earth itself, upon which the servant of Morgoth, Sauron, Gorthaur the Cruel, is pressing with the claw of his Nazgul.   
   The elves, and the horses, felt it as a blow, as a great blast of darkness, of fear. But we elves have faced such foes before. Your horses, well, no mortal steed could have withstood that curse.'  
   'I hear it still.' said Eärnur quietly 'Like a dreadful scream. It... It makes me want to hide, in truth, which is why I was so angry that we were dragged away like that by the horses. Thank the stars that you came in time to destroy the orcs, else this battle would be far from finished, unlike my leg, alas, at least for a time !'

   Glorfindel nodded 'Yes, their cry is a torment in itself. But it is not that of which we speak.'  
   Eärnur grinned and jerked his head at Logar 'He doesn’t speak, but he never shuts up, eh ? Ha ! My elfling !' he drew in a ragged breath, then composed himself and looked seriously at Glorfindel 'Forgive me, I am tired, hurt and giddy from battle. But I am listening.'  
   Glorfindel nodded, hearing the echo of the words trace their ripples on his skin. 'A spell has been cast, a curse has been uttered, setting fear on the land. It is still here, echoing, though you do not hear it. Eriador is conquered, sire, we have not won. Arnor shall not rise until Sauron himself is utterly defeated and the... the spell removed.'

   Eärnur gaped at Glorfindel, then sat up eagerly 'Are you, shall we, shall the Last Alliance ride again ? Shall we hunt him down, you and I, and break the curse ?'  
   Logar bowed his head, but Glorfindel did not turn to look, keeping his eyes fixed on the shining eyes of the mortal king. 'Listen to my voice, sire, heed my words. That is not a mortal man, who insulted you and fled. That is not a living man at all. His power is great beyond your imagining. It is beyond my imagining, and I am counted among the wise. Forget pride, let go of your vanity, and think. There is a shadow now where before there was light. These lands are lost sire.'  
   'Does it pain you ? The curse ?'  
   Glorfindel blinked, then smiled 'No, it is not pain, but it is uncomfortable, and it does not cease, like a little wind, that tears away slowly at the nerves. But I come from the Light of the Trees, and those like I are as pools round which the dark fire rages in vain, for we do not burn.   
   But you must not seek to rebuild this realm. Return to the south, sire, and guard well your own lands. For if you are a friend to the elves, then yes, I would have your aid in this last alliance.'  
'A friend to the elves ! Can you doubt it ?'  
   Glorfindel smiled 'I do not doubt it. Come then. It is my part to watch the Road to the Sea, guarding the retreat of the elves. But in the south, the people of Numenor, of Gondor, have long stood bulwark against the threat from Mordor, and guarded the Road. Will you now return there and join me in the true last alliance ?'  
   'Oh Glorfindel no ! I cannot endure the thought of a world without elves, however rarely they deign to visit Gondor. Just the mere thought that they might, that you might ?'  
   Glorfindel smiled sadly 'Alas for the Children of Ilúvatar, who meet and part, strangers on the road. But we have met, and our lives are enriched by our understanding of each other, such as it is.'  
   'Such as it is !' Eärnur laughed 'You elves, you tell me that you are beyond my understanding and at the same time that we do understand each other ! And they say "Go not to the elves for counsel." Truly !'

  
   Bilbo exclaimed loudly and Glorfindel sat back in his seat 'Ha ! I like this Eärnur, he sounds very sensible ! I asked you about the hobbits at the Battle of Fornost and you tell me about a conversation you had with Eärnur ! "Go not to the elves for counsel" indeed !'  
   Glorfindel tilted his head and looked critically at Bilbo 'You always wish to see the last page before you read the tale.'  
   Bilbo gaped, then looked down 'Oh very well, finish your tale. I know you will anyway.'   
   Glorfindel smiled 'My dear Bilbo, it is only that it is, well, you know it will be a sad tale. None returned, remember ? I would not hurt the hobbit child that lives yet within you, dreaming of adventures.'  
   'They died in the battle, then ? You said there were no prisoners taken.'  
   Glorfindel sighed, and drank deeply.

  
   They had been discussing the fortifications at Tharbad when the strange sound reached the pavilion. It was the sound of ill tidings, and pity, and grief. Logar had gone silently to the door, but a guard came running up, panting.  
   'Sire, my king, I... You had best come sire.'  
   'Alas, my wretched leg, fetch my horse.'  
   But Logar stood up straight 'No. Sit still. I shall go in your stead.' his voice was deeper than Glorfindel had expected, and with great dignity. A junior prince from a small coastal city, with the merest trace of elven blood after an Age of the world, yet still, to Glorfindel, he seemed as one of their own.  
   'Very well. Glorfindel, do you... Will you go likewise ? I have heeded your words, as you see ! If there is aught amiss, I would have you there.'

   The guard led them to the woods at the edge of the camp, where the reserves had been stationed. The great path gouged by the mighty cavalry of Gondor was now the feasting ground of carrion birds, but beside it a trail of orc corpses led away into the woods, each pierced by small arrows. Glorfindel found his heart sinking. He had heard that halflings had been permitted on the field, but knew very well that such troops would never be ordered into the attack. But these orcs had been fleeing, into the woods where the elusive halflings, armed only with their light bows, had waited.  
  
   Logar groaned and turned to Glorfindel, a pleading look in his normally cool grey eyes. A new pain stabbed at the heart of Glorfindel; this was no elf, this was a frightened mortal, willing him to make things be otherwise than they were. Glorfindel thought of the vision he had been given as the curse had blasted them, of the final ending of the Witch-king, and wondered why it needed to be so long in the coming. He thought of all those who would suffer at the hands of Angmar, and frowned again, as ever unwilling to excuse the pain inflicted upon the living by Eru Ilúvatar, who had made Morgoth. He wanted to groan himself, he could not heal the marring of Arda.  
   Logar still looked at him, he must speak, but he knew he would fail to keep his voice calm. He thought of the hobbits, and that they, and Logar, and Eärnur, and all this mighty host of the army of Gondor, would soon be dead, whether they fought again or no, for all were mortal, fleeting as the the pear tree blossom, sparkling as briefly as the dew. He thought of mortals, and their ways, and reached out his hand and laid it on the arm of Logar and gripped for a moment, then let go. Logar sighed, but sat up straighter, and they rode silently into the shadow of the trees.

   Glorfindel looked at Bilbo 'Are you certain that you wish to hear this ? You must know now what I will tell you ?'  
   'I must know what you found. They fought back, didn’t they ? They didn’t all run away ?'  
   Glorfindel felt the tears start in his eyes. He gazed into the reddened eyes of the ancient old hobbit, and let his own tears flow.

   The trail of orcs had thickened, the corpses began to pile, and then in a trampled glade they found the pitiful remains of the hobbits. None had fled. Logar, who had been in battles at sea, turned away and retched. Glorfindel looked across the blood and gore and marvelled at the hobbits, one was actually biting the ankle of an orc, and had died, his blood spilled from a sword cut to the throat, teeth still clenched on the foul flesh of the orc.   
   And all the orcs were slain, none had passed, none had broken the line of the hobbits. They had used their small daggers, they had used stones, they had used their teeth, but they had slain every last orc, and held the line. Glorfindel felt choked, the tears welled in his eyes, Logar too was weeping.  
   'We must sing a great song in honour of this terrible victory ! Truly, if we had known the ferocity of spirit of these hobbits, we would have armed them more wisely.' said Logar gravely. Glorfindel nodded slowly, but suddenly Mithrandir was there, stepping out from behind a tree, smiling sadly at them.  
  
   'Well met ! Glorfindel, my dear child ! And young Logar, a long way from Dol Amroth indeed !'  
   'Mithrandir ! This is a sorry time, though your presence lightens all hearts as ever !'  
   But Logar merely bowed in silence. Mithrandir looked slowly around, and breathed out a sigh through his nose. 'My poor brave hobbits. They were insulted to be left at home, they were insulted to be asked only for archers, and they were insulted to be hidden away in the woods. But now, I think we must heap ignominy upon them. For we cannot praise their valour ! They must remain hidden ! Else all the orcs of the Misty Mountains will cross the plain and wipe them, in the end, from the face of Arda.   
   The spell cast here will echo long in Eriador. We cannot lift it until the enemy is finally banished from the world.  
   We must endure it. You, Glorfindel, must face the slow torment of it, as you guard the Road. The Dunedain must take to the woods and hills, and endure long obscurity, Imladris must remain hidden, and the halflings must melt away into the landscape. Sing in your heart, recall their valour, but do not speak of it. For in the end, the Enemy will find his own spells defeat him, do what he will. It may be that today he has set the flame that will finally consume him.' The old wizard started suddenly as though he had been daydreaming 'But there, it is... It will be long yet ere we see.'  
  
   'But Mithrandir ! What of these, our valiant allies, what of their remains ? What of their kin ?' Logar spoke urgently, then looked to Glorfindel for support. But Glorfindel lowered his eyes. When he looked up, Mithrandir was leading Logar back to the horses, speaking kindly 'What they love best is peace, and plenty. Guard their borders, keep all knowledge of them from the world, but most particularly the enemy, and let them flourish as themselves, not as small men, or beardless dwarves, but as hobbits.'  
   'But Mithrandir, the Road passes through the heart of their Shire.'  
   'There is nothing to see but a few poor-looking houses. I have often ridden through the Shire, my mind on something, and forgotten to notice it. There are no fortresses, no great Halls, no hoard to speak of. Yet they want for nothing and are content. The very thought of the Shire fills me with an inexpressible joy, for I feel that Eru has given us, in the Shire, a glimpse of what Arda might have been like, unmarred. But there, this carnage has wounded my heart. My poor brave, foolish hobbits !'

   Glorfindel looked sadly at Bilbo 'What more would you hear ?'  
   "Poor brave foolish hobbits' Bilo echoed, and blew his nose 'I suppose I knew. I suppose we all knew, after we had heard a few tales from Bree. But nobody liked to say anything. We just... knew.'  
   They were silent for a time, grieving together for all the dead. But Bilbo, his nose as red now as his eyes, frowned at Glorfindel 'What was that you said about being a pool in the fire ?'  
   Glorfindel nodded 'So, you were listening after all ! When you close your eyes, I wonder if you are sleeping.'  
   'Well, perhaps sometimes I am...'  
   'Perhaps ! If only you could hear your snores !'  
   'I do not snore !'  
   Glorfindel laughed 'Of course not ! Oh Bilbo, it is you who are a pool of light ! I am a weary plodder, up and down the Road, daydreaming my time away... In truth, it is at times tedious, for nothing ever attacks me. From time to time there are reports of bandits or fell beasts, and we gather together and hunt them down; but mostly it’s just Asfaloth and I, singing to keep our spirits up. Of course, he doesn’t sing as well as I, indeed, his contributions to the music are more by way of criticism than harmony, alas.'   
   But Bilbo was laughing too much to speak, picturing Glorfindel, with his moderate singing voice, hearing the snorts of the proud horse as jeers.

 

 

 

 


End file.
